Fights Bite
by boscoslut
Summary: When Dean returns to their motel room from a bar beat to hell, Sam begins to worry more is going on.
1. Chapter 1

Fights Bite

Summary: When Dean returns to their motel room from a bar beat to hell, Sam begins to worry more is going on.

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Dean called the winning shot before the eight ball gracefully sunk down into the pocket. "That's a wrap," he grinned setting his pool stick down on the long bar table next to it. "It's been fun, gentlemen," he scooped up his winnings and counted them out before stuffing the hunk of twenties deep into his front pocket.

"Don't you want to play another round? The night is so young," Chad asked, already in the process of setting the table up for another game.

"Yeah. We want a chance to win some of our money back," Richard added.

Dean gave it a thought. He rolled his sleeve up and glanced at his watch. These guys were a challenge and it had been fun playing them.

It had also been over three hours since Sammy left him there. He took the Impala to crash at their motel room which was only three blocks down. Dean assured him he could walk the distance and do not wait up. He chuckled at their last conversation.

Ever since his run in with the demon and his almost death, Sam had been watching him like a hawk. Not that Dean didn't appreciate the show of affection, but you could only hang out with your younger sibling for so long without him getting on your nerves. He was surprised the way Sam had been acting, he wasn't already back at the bar attempting to drag him out. For sure he was still up playing on his laptop or watching whatever crap the motel offered on television. Most likely the moment he stumbled in Sam would play it off and act like he was just now tired and going to bed.

Dean rolled his sleeve back down and lowered his arm. "Na... the night's not that young. Thanks for the offer, though." He grinned at them and nodded his head before making his way over to the bar. He eased onto the stool and flagged the bar tender down, ordering a shot of their best tequila and one draft beer.

The lightening from outside was illuminating the bar from the few windows every five seconds. The thunder so loud it roared over the music. He couldn't hear the rain but one glance at the window closest to him... it was coming down hard. A few drinks and he'd suck it up and take the walk. A little water never hurt. Or a lot.

He slammed his shot and let the hard liquor warm his insides. He sipped his beer and found himself zoning out, relaxing, even tapping his foot to whatever crap was on the jukebox.

A quarter way through his beer he found his shoulder being jostled. He snapped out of his comfortable daze and looked over to find Chad easing down into the stool next to him. "Hey," Dean grinned at him, only to feel his other shoulder being jostled in a much similar fashion. He looked over to find Richard easing in the other unoccupied stool to his left.

"This seat taken?" Richard gave him a not so pleasant glare.

Dean raised his beer to his lips and took another swig before answering. "Free country," he replied setting it back down on the bar. He then felt someone standing behind him. A quick turn of the head and back he knew it was the one they called Bill. He didn't play pool with the guy but he was clearly with Chad and Richard.

Dean cleared his throat. "Is there a problem?"

"Not if you call hustling my buddies out of their hard earned money a problem," Bill growled into his ear.

Dean chuckled. "Hustled? That was a fair game, gentlemen. I thought it was extremely entertaining."

"If you don't want a rematch I suggest you give my pals here their money back and leave before this place gets ugly."

Dean held down the insult that the place was already ugly with just his presence in the bar. Instead he lifted his beer again and downed the warm remains of it. Setting it back down on the bar, he said, "Look, I won fair and square. I ain't asking for trouble. Why don't you let me buy you guys a round of beer? I need to be heading out."

He began to stand and found Bill's hand planted firmly on his shoulder, forcing him back down into his stool.

"I don't like to be touched. I'll only ask you politely once to remove your hand," Dean warned. His hand wrapped around the beer bottle in a tight grip, ready to swing it at this asshole in five seconds.

The bar tender stepped over to them, phone in hand. "These guys giving you a problem?" He looked Dean in the eyes.

Hell yeah they were. They just ruined his night. Couldn't he play a legit game of pool and interact with humans and not get into it?

The bar tender began to dial a number on his phone and Dean instantly removed his grip on the beer bottle. "No, thank you, no problem at all. Nothing we can't handle outside anyway, right, gentlemen?"

Bill began to ease his hand off Dean's shoulder and he took it upon himself to shrug it the remainder of the way off.

The bar tender looked at him questionably but Dean stayed firm. "Seriously, man, no problem. Thanks."

The man shook his head and set the phone down, nodding his head in a gesture that said 'Fine, get the fuck out of here'.

Dean didn't need any more problems. The fact that he was in the FBI data base and wanted for murder was enough. He didn't feel like rotting in jail waiting for Sammy to bail his sorry ass out one way or another. He was slightly buzzed but he knew he could take these three morons on in his sleep.

"Gentlemen, lead the way," he said calmly, easing out of his seat. Bill backed off while Chad and Richard stood.

Dean found himself following the three men out the side entrance.

"Great, just great," he muttered. He sizes them up on his long journey to the door. He can take all three on, no problem, as long as they fight fair. He has his blade on him but would rather not use it. He could always give them back the money he won but damnit, he won it fair and square. It's the principle and it's just not an option.

The second he steps from the bar, he eases his leather collar up. The rain is pelting him. This is going to make for one interesting fight when he can barely see two inches in front of him. The second the side door slams behind him he's speaking. "Guys, lets talk about this first. I mean, do you really want your sorry butts kicked over one hundred bones? Are you that desperate for the money? Maybe you do need it more than me."

A voice echoes from his left. "Always the smart mouth, aren't you Winchester?"

Dean squints. Visibility is nil. Then he frowns. A sick feeling rising in his gut. He may have kicked a few too many back and he may have thought he was in company of just human jerks, but this one won't slide by him. He curses himself for having such cloudy judgement.

"How the hell you know my real name!"

Silence...

"We know all about you, Dean Winchester. It's not very often we come across a well known hunter... one that is allllllllllllllllllll alone..." the eerie voice has him centered.

"I'm flattered you know me," Dean spits out, the fear rising in his gut so hard he thinks he's going to choke on it.

"Where are your hunter friends, Winchester? Who will save you from this?"

Dean pulls out his blade, swiping at his eyes for more visibility. His ears are arched and he's ready to pounce.

"Oh wait... you don't have friends," the voice comes from his right.

Another from the center. "You've always lacked the social skills to keep friends. We almost feel sorry for you."

Another comes back from the left, "Shame. Your father's death was such a shame. You don't know how happy that made us the great John was down for good. But he wasn't your friend, cause you don't have any, do you? He was your mentor."

He swipes the blade out not hitting any target. "Shut your trap! Just shut your fucking mouth!"

"Where is that delicious brother of yours? He's your friend, right? The only person you have in this dying decaying world?"

Dean's nostrils flare. He thrashes out with his blade again to no avail. "You got one thing right. I am alone. I hunt alone and I will kill you ALL!" He seethes, "Lets go. Show me your true form!"

"Liar, not a very good liar, we saw your brother with you. Your only friend." The voices are all combined and coming from every which way.

"NO!" He screams. "WE HAD A FALLING OUT! I'M ALONE. NOW BRING IT ON!"

Dean is slammed against the brick siding of the bar, his arms outstretched. He holds onto the knife as long as he can but some unseen force twists his wrist to the point he can no longer hold it. "Noooooooooooooooooooo!"

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for all the kind reviews. Not sure which episodes this should take place between... it's just been in my head... so... I guess spoiler warning for all episodes just to be safe.

Fights Bite

Chapter 2:

Dean winces as his wrist is painfully twisted, his hand flexing open the blade falls from his grasp. " Noooooooooooooooooooo!" He struggles to lean forward and pry himself off the side of the building.

"It's not nice to lie, Winchester. Perhaps we need to punish you." The combined voices are louder, stronger... _closer._

"I'm not lying! Who the hell are you?" A small growl escapes deep within Dean's throat. His struggles continue to be in vain.

The one that called himself Chad instantly materializes in front of Dean. "I'm your worst nightmare," he says in a single voice that is low and animal like. _Evil._

Dean glares at him, obviously not amused. "Real fucking original, Mr. Jigsaw," he spits out.

Chad just grins an evil grin. One that sends chills running up and down Dean's back and all hairs on the back of his neck standing at full attention. He watches helplessly as Richard and Bill make their presence simultaneously. One on each side of Chad. All three of them seem to be wearing the same sadistic grin. If they were trying to out do each other, he wouldn't know who to award the gold, silver and bronze.

"Maybe the proper question should have been, what are you?" Dean asks in a pissed off tone. He knows he's wasting his energy and finally gives up his struggle. He's never seen ghosts travel in a pack like this before. "You like a gang of ghosts?" He verbalizes his thought.

All three begin to laugh at him in mockery. Dean's nostrils flare again.

"You are the hunter, Winchester. You tell us. What are we?" Chad walks forward near inches from his face.

"What do you want?" Dean growls, not liking his personal space intruded on almost as much as being pinned.

"Good question," Chad tilts his head. "Perhaps I'll answer it for you... but first..." his arm swings back then forward as he plants his fist into Dean's stomach.

" Ummmmmppphhhhhh," all breath is stolen from his lungs. He tries to curl forward into the pain, only to have his head remain implanted against the wall. He closes his eyes tight with the wave of agony that flares up his midsection. He hasn't fully regained his breathing when another blow impacts the same spot. His face turns a dark shade of red and he bits his bottom lip to the point of blood draw. " Uggghhffffuuucckk," he hisses.

The blows continue. One after another after another. By the time Chad is done with him, or at least he wishes he was done with him, he's panting with his eyes closed, willing unconsciousness. Blood is dripping from both his nostrils and his busted lip. His left eye and cheek are puffy and red.

"You aren't so tough, Mr. Winchester. I gotta say I'm a little disappointed. I don't know how you managed to build such a reputation," Chad says right before licking the blood off of his knuckles. Dean's blood. "Perhaps I should give you the benefit of the doubt," he smiles and smacks his lips. "You can tell a lot about a person from the taste of their blood."

Dean's eyes open up half way.

"Your blood is strong tasting, almost bitter. I like it," Chad grins at him. "What's wrong. Nothing smart to say now?"

"Let me go," Dean warns.

"You begging me?" He laughs. "You don't seem like the begging type. The pride in your blood is so thick I could almost chew it."

"You're sick."

Chad gets so close to him their noses are touching. "No. I'm not. But you will be. You kill without so much as batting an eyelash. You have no remorse for the lives you take."

"I kill evil," Dean growls.

"You kill what you perceive to be evil," Chad yells in his face. His voice softens. "Is your brother evil, Mr. Winchester? Will you kill your own brother, DEAN!" He doesn't wait for a response. His hand latches out and his fingers curl around Dean's throat, cutting off all oxygen. He squeezes tighter and tighter leaving fingerprint bruising, his thick long nails penetrating flesh as Dean gasps for life. Just when black spots start to dance around his vision and a loud ringing tone buzzes in his eardrums, the hand lets go, allowing him to suck in air.

Dean breathes heavy for a few moments. Once he can speak he whispers, "Don't touch my brother. Kill me but please, leave him alone."

Speaking of Sam, he could really use him about now. He curses himself for being such a prick lately. _Not anymore Sammy, I'm sorry, please... I need your help..._

Chad looks back to Richard and Bill, all three laughing that god awful laugh again. He turns back to Dean. "Oh I have no plans on touching your brother. I'll leave that part up to you." Dean gives him a look of confusion. Chad leans in and parts Dean's leather jacket, lifting up his shirt tail. He begins to unbuckle his belt, all the while staring into Dean's eyes. He's enjoying the fear. He's ready to taste more of it.

"What are you..."

" Shhhh... trust me... you won't remember a thing at first. I'll be right here," he flicks Dean on the temple hard with his index finger, "and I'll control what you remember and when." He pulls Dean's belt apart and to the sides of his hips and unbuttons the snap fly with one hand, slowly unzipping.

"Stop it! STOP!" Dean's struggles again, causing Chad to mechanically laugh. Suddenly several sets of jagged fangs grow from his gums making the most fowl noise Dean's ever heard. His eyes widen with even more horror. "You... you're a vamp?"

"Not exactly Mr. Winchester the Oh So Not Great Hunter. Not exactly." Dean feels his pants drop and Chad bends down, lowering his boxers right before he sinks his teeth into the soft tissue in his pelvis right next to his hip bone.

" GawwwwdddddNoooooooooooooo!!!" The small pointy weapons dig into his flesh spiking pain everywhere. His legs turn to jelly. The supernatural force is the only thing keeping him upright. He can feel blood being sucked hard from the wound followed by something foreign forcing its way into his bloodstream. It feels like there is a battle between his blood and the toxins blazing through every vein, lifting their swords and lashing out at him. He can't suppress the cry of pain that escapes his lips. It hurts. It hurts so fucking bad. He has the will to fight but he can feel his blood retreating, pulling back as the toxins march forward claiming victory. "God," he gasps right before his eyes roll into his head and he passes out.

Chad licks the wound before snapping his boxers back into place, pulling Dean's jeans back up as he stands. He's teeth are soaked with blood. He runs his tounge across them wickedly before the teeth disappear just as fast as they came. "Not exactly, Mr. Winchester, but you are getting warmer. Besides, you don't believe in God, do you? Maybe that's your down fall? Hmm?" He zips Dean's pants back up and snaps them, leaving his belt to hang open. "I hope you enjoy the taste of your brother as much as I enjoyed the taste of you. Remember, I'm always with you now. I'm watching." He smears the blood coating his lips on the back of his hand and sucks it off, grinning. He then reaches into Dean's front pocket, removing the bundle of cash from earlier. "Yes, I think I will take our money back. You don't mind, do you? I thought so. Drinks on you." He pats Dean on the shoulder. All three begin to laugh as they reenter the bar, leaving Dean pinned to the wall. Moments later he is released, falling limply to the ground.

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"This sucks," Sam says out loud, looking at the clock on Dean's laptop before exiting out the paranormal web site he's been browsing for the past hour. Nothing interesting going on as of yet. Nothing that both brothers would agree on to check out anyway. Besides he's so tired he doesn't think he could read another few posts. The lines were starting to fade into each other.

He stretches out his long arms then stands, heading over to the window. He peals the curtain back. It's been storming for hours. Maybe he should drive down to the bar and see if he's ready to go? He turns and grabs his coat off the back of the chair, easing in on over his his slender body. He fumbles in his pocket for the keys to the Impala. "You are just going to piss him off," he says to himself, nodding his head agreeing. He pulls the jacket off and tosses it back into the chair.

Instead he picks up his cell phone that was next to the laptop and walks over to his bed, easing down. His eyes close. This has to be the most comfortable motel mattress he's sat on in months. Even the sheets smell inviting. He lays down onto his back and rolls his head, sniffing the pillow. It smells like fresh mountain air laundry detergent, or he thinks that would be the scent if he had to guess. Whatever. It smells nice and relaxing. He sets the phone down on the night stand between the beds and switches the light off, leaving him in the darkness. If Dean wants a ride, he'll call. He has his number. He'll hear his phone ring that close to his face. Things have been so tense between them lately, he doesn't want to make them any tenser. His mind roams for a while but not long... he drifts into a dreamless sleep.

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

Fights Bite

Chapter 3:

"Oh man," Dean groaned as he regained consciousness. His eyes slowly fluttered open to zoom in on the texture of the cement his head was resting on. "Oh man," he repeated rising into a sitting position. He instantly regretted the movement. "Shit," he cursed, wrapping his arm around his rib cage. "That smarts," he complained as he slowly stood. He placed his free hand on the side of the building to assist him up.

The rain was still coming down heavy. He stood leaning against the bar to gather himself. His clothing was soaked all the way through and clinging to him uncomfortably. It was weighing him down and all he wanted to do was lay back down and sleep off his killer headache. "I know I didn't drink that much," he moaned, lifting his hand to rub his temples. He had a tense pain behind both his eyes. Mostly the left one. He probed it with his finger and winced. "Awe yes, pool... fight... fucking great. Asshole losers." His hand lowered to rub at his abused throat.

Then it hit him.

"Oh crap. No way. You better not have..." He looked around for his knife. After a minute he located it behind him. "Least they didn't steal you," he whispered bending down painfully to retrieve it. His father had given him that blade for his tenth birthday. He was happy they didn't take it because he'd march back into the bar and demand a round two. This time he would win.

He tucked it away groaning as the movement pulled more tender muscle. His jeans were heavy on his hips, almost falling down. He then noticed his belt was unbuckled. "What the?" He pulled them up and fumbled for the loose ends and began to fasten it. Maybe he had to take a leak and forgot? Regardless, it was going to be a long, already cold and wet walk home and he didn't need his pants falling around his ankles tripping him.

"All the nights you choose not to come pick me up, Sammy," he bitched as he began to make the three block walk back to the motel.

His body ached in places he didn't know he had. "Ah man, this sucks."

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Dean slowly closed the door behind him, locking it. All the lights were off and he could hear a slight snore coming from the closest bed. He paced across the old stained carpet, each step bringing a squishing noise from his shoes.

He reached around the wall and flipped the bathroom light on. He was chilled to the bone and the motel's room temperature wasn't to his liking. He located the thermostat and cranked it all the way up. He'd turn it down once he warmed up. He wanted to shrug off the wet clothing but he was so damn sore and tired. Instead, he walked over to in between the beds and stopped at Sam's still form. He could just make out the peaceful look on his brother's face.

"Since when did you become such a heavy sleeper, huh?" He lingered over him for several minutes. He listened to Sam's steady breathing and soft snores. "I sure could have used your help today, _little_ brother. Where were you? Huh? You are always around and the one time I need you to have my back... you aren't there." He frowns. "Times like this I start to think what a pain in the ass you are to me."

He slowly pulls out his knife and holds it up, eying the pure silver beauty. From the dim light in the bathroom he can make out the blade's rugged teeth. He looks back down to Sam. "I always like the bed closest to the door," his lip quivers, "but you already knew that. Is that why you took this bed? To piss me off? You like pushing my buttons don't you?"

He reaches down and grabs the blanket that is around Sam's waist and pulls it up over his shoulders. "I never told you this but it helps me sleep better. Any intruder has to get by me to get to you." He stares down at Sam a little longer. "Glad you are getting some rest. Sleep well _little_ brother."

He turns around and takes the two steps to his bed. He slides his precious knife under his pillow then eases down onto the mattress flat on his stomach. He doesn't even bother to crawl under the covers. He's soaked anyway. It hurts his ribs to lay this way but the second his head hits the pillow he's out.

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"Mmmmmmmhhhh," he moans half asleep, pushing the blanket off his chest. He's so hot. It's not enough. His long legs begin to kick to remove the offending object. He manages to slide if half way off his legs before his eyes open wide. The air is so warm he feels like he's suffocating.

Sam sits up in his bed on both elbows blinking a few times. "Why is it so damn hot?" He sits all the way up and slides his legs over the edge of the bed, ripping the blanket the remainder of the way off he tosses it on the floor. His rubs at his eyes and stands, looking around the front of the motel room. He spots the thermostat and lazily stumbles towards it, yawning mid way.

He bends down and looks at it. 103 F. It's on full throttle and still pumping heat from the vents. "Damn," he says reaching up to click the OFF button. He's hot and sticky and thinks he should probably open a window before heading to take a cold shower. Surprisingly, he slept well for once. No nightmares is a plus. No visions is an added bonus.

He stands and rolls his shoulder blades. "Wow... if I can't persuade Dean into stealing that mattress for me I think I may splurge and do it myself." His lips form a small smile at his own little private joke.

Speaking of Dean, he turns to see his big bro sleeping over the blankets in one looks to be still half ass wet clothing, shoes and all. He's laying on his side, his back turned to him. Sam shakes his head. "Hangovers are a bitch, Dean, but you of all people should know that," his grin widens as he approaches him.

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks for the reviews.

Fights Bite

Chapter 4:

He can't believe his brother passed out and actually slept with all his clothing on. "You look... wet," he chuckles as he reaches the bed. "Must have been one hell of a night." He bites his lip. "Now what would you do to me in this situation if the tables were turned?" He playfully taps his finger over his lips.

He bends down and tucks all his fingers under the mattress and in one swift motion hoists it up. Dean goes rolling off the mattress onto the floor with a clunk. "Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaa, goooooood morning sunshine hahahahahahahahahahahaha," Sam drops the mattress back down in a fit of laughter.

He hears a groan from the floor and peeks down at Dean. His eyes are darting around the room in a confused half asleep expression. The rain had managed to wash away most of the blood that was crusted to his face exposing some very colorful bruising. He looks up at a laughing Sam, subconsciously rubbing at his ribs. His voice is rough. "Damn it Sam!"

Sam's laughing instantly stops the second he gets a good look at his face. "Dean? What happened?" He makes his way around the bed and immediately begins to help his struggling brother up. Dean pushes his helping hands away and stands up on his own, instantly regretting it. "Sonovabitch Ow!" He eases himself back down onto the bed. Straightening his back he hisses and rubs again at his ribs.

"Dean are you okay?" Sam squats and places his hands on Dean's knees.

Dean gives him a pained perturbed look. "No! What the hell did you do that for?"

Sam is already trying to get a good look at the bruising. "I'm sorry man... I just thought you were passed out."

Dean pushes his hands off his knees. "Yeah... I was passed out. Not anymore thank you very much!"

"I didn't realize you were... in a fight last night... I'm sorry. Jesus, who the hell did this?" Sam reaches up to softly touch Dean's eye that is unnaturally swollen and dark. The eyelid is bubbled with blood. Dean once again pushes his hand away. "Don't touch that!"

Sam feels anger rise in him. "What the hell, Dean! Didn't we already have the conversation about you being wanted for murder and needing to lay low? Do I need to recap?" He stands, his head shaking his disapproval. "Were you not listening to me?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Yeah, Sam. I was. You don't need to recap."

"Apparently I do!" Sam half yells. "Was I having that conversation with myself?"

"No Sam," Dean's voice raises to match his. "I didn't start this fight, okay? So lay off!" He begins to shrug his water soaked leather jacket off. His voice lowers into a cranky whine. "Dude it's freezing in here. Crank up the heat will ya?"

Sam continues to shake his head. "It's one hundred plus damn degrees in here. It's not cold. You passed out with your soaking wet clothing which brings me to another topic. Whey the hell didn't you call me for a ride?" His voice begins to soften as he watches Dean wince as he slides his coat off. "I would have picked you up."

"Yeah well, it was late... I didn't want to trouble you... we both know how cranky you are when you don't get a full ten hours rest." Dean hisses as his coat is finally removed. He leaves it where if falls on the bed. The top blanket and most likely sheets are soiled all the way though.

"You are so not funny. You are my brother, Dean, and it's your car. It would not have been any trouble," he spots the dark bruising around Dean's neck and leans in, noticing finger nail indents amongst the bruises. "Dean?"

Dean looks him in the eyes and notes what he's looking at. He rubs at his throat. "It's nothing, Sam. Barely hurts."

His eyes meet Dean's. "I don't call that nothing. That looks brutal. This guy try to strangle you to death with his bare hands?"

"Come on, Sammy. I'm not in the mood for this mush," Dean practically begs.

He looks closer and audibly winces. "Do I need to turn the news on? I'd hate to see him. Should we already be fleeing the county?"

Dean smirks. "We should have already fled the country. See I do pay attention. Besides," he licks his busted lips, "I appreciate the confidence in my fighting skills but there is no need for that. There were three of them and I never got a punch in." He begins to stand, a bit slowly. Sam's arm is already out helping him.

"Seriously, I'm fine." He doesn't bother to shrug off Sam's hand on his shoulder this time and Sam lets it linger.

"You never got a punch in? Were you drunk? Not that it matters I've seen you take on four guys after a fifth of whiskey." He leans in and can just make out the stale smell of liquor on his breath.

Dean cautiously nods his head. "No. Not really. I mean I was a little buzzed. I just wasn't expecting it that's all. It was a fair game of pool. I thought they were decent enough guys. Shows my poor judge of character, doesn't it? Those jerks were just sore losers. We took it outside and no cops were called."

Sam nods his head back. He can tell by Dean's posture he's sporting more bruises beneath his clothing. "I'll get the first aid kit." His hand removes from Dean's shoulder.

"Yeah, okay, I'm going to take a hot shower and warm up." He begins to stagger towards the bathroom.

"You need help?" Sam asks knowing what response he'll get.

"You wanna come hold it for me?" Dean says never looking back. "I'll manage, Sam."

Dean closes the bathroom door behind him, not bothering to lock it. He slowly begins to discard the remainder of his clothing. He allows his jeans to drop then eases down onto the closed toilet seat to remove each shoe, then his pants and socks. He sucks in a shaky breath at the strain in his mid section. He then removes his shirt and tosses it on the floor with the rest of the clothing.

He stands and lifts the toilet seat, allowing his boxers to drop as he takes care of business. Once his bladder is empty he flushes and takes the couple steps to the tub and steps in, just now noticing the wound next to his hip bone. "What the fuck?" He shivers and adjusts the hot water tap to full blast, turning the knob to shower spray he steps back to let it adjust.

He begins to probe the wound, a sickening feeling growing in his gut. He's not sure what kind of bite it is but with his experience and the circular arrangement of puncture wounds, it's clearly a bite of some sort. "This can't be happening," he whispers, swallowing the lump down that is forming in his throat. He leans his head into the tiles and closes his eyes.

"Sonovabitch," he growls. "Maybe I fell on something sharp?" He tries to briefly rationalize. He searches his memories in a weak attempt to remember the full details of the night but having a vampire or werewolf or whatever the fuck bite him in a private area at that doesn't come to mind. He is sure he'd remember an important piece of information like that. How is he going to break this to Sam?

Suddenly a tense pain sparks from behind both of his eyes. He reaches up and pinches his already tender nose. Voices began to whisper all around him.

_You're not thinking about telling Sammy yet, are you, Winchester?_

_Yeah... what fun would that be? It's our little dirty secret._

_He'll find out soon enough. You can't ruin all our fun at once._

_Are you sick yet, Winchester? Muhahahahahaha. You will be._

_The games are just beginning. You like to play games, don't you?_

_Your brother is going to beg you to spare his life right before you end it._

_I can still taste your blood, Winchester. Maybe I want another taste, first. Oh so bitter._

"OWWWWWGAAWWDD!" Dean stumbles back in the tub and slips.

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Sam brought the first aid kit in from their trunk then headed up to the front desk requesting another set of sheets and a blanket for Dean. It helped ease the guilt for giving Dean the rude awakening that he did. Besides that, he had no success finding a new gig for them. More than likely Dean would want to head out after he cleaned up but this gave him something to do.

For once he didn't care if Dean used all the hot water. After waking up in a hot room like that, he was eager to take an ice cold one. His shirt was still sticking to his chest and his hair felt grungy.

He spread Dean's leather coat over the back of a chair and placed his knife by his lap top. He then stripped down Dean's mattress ignoring the miniature blood stains on the comforter and sheets. In a cheap motel like this one he wouldn't be surprised if the stains were left over. They both usually examined the bedding unless they were completely tuckered out from a hunt.

He could see the water stains on the mattress and flipped it over to the dry side. He had just got the fitting sheet on and smoothed out the wrinkles when he heard Dean yelp from the bathroom followed by a loud thud. "Dean!" He took a few long strides over to the bathroom door and didn't even bother knocking. He flung the door open and stepped in.

TBC...


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks for the reviews.

Fights Bite Continued

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Sam frantically glances at the toilet then towards the tub.

Dean is sitting on the edge of the tub bent forward, his elbows on his knees, his face buried in his hands. A towel is firmly secured around his waist.

Sam looks at him worriedly. "Dean? Are you okay? It sounded like you fell. I heard you yell."

Dean slowly looks up at him, removing his hands from his face. "Yeah... I slipped. I must have passed out in the tub. The water was too hot. I think." It sounds lame coming out of his mouth, even to him, but he's not exactly sure what just happened.

Sam's eyes cast down at his stomach area. There are three apple sized bruises, most likely from fists, that are a dark shade of purple. Sprouting from them are lighter bruises ranging from a weaker shade of purple to speckles of yellow and red.

"You think? Dude, you scared the crap out of me!" Sam steps over to the shower and reaches in, turning the hot water nozzle off. He turns to Dean. "Did you hurt yourself?"

Dean sits up straightening his back, trying to contain the wince. "Na." He looks up at Sam and grins in a weak attempt at humor. "I should probably get one of those old folks devices we see on those infomercials. You know, I've fallen and I can't get up?"

Sam shakes his head at him. "You can be such an idiot, you know that? Can you walk? I brought the first aid kit in."

Dean waves his hand at him and eases himself up off the ledge of the tub, proceeding towards his bed.

"I took the liberty of changing your bedding for you in case you decide you want to stay here another day and rest up." Sam follows closely behind him just in case he has another pass out spell.

"Oh how noble of you little brother," Dean says between clinched teeth as he stiffly slides his body down into a sitting position. He starts to lay down and Sam stops him.

"Uh uh, no you don't. I'm checking you out first and you are oh so welcome. Try not to sound too grateful," he grabs the first aid kit and sits down next to Dean who is outwardly protesting.

"Come on, Sammy. I already told you I'm fine. All I need is a few hours sleep which by the way, need I remind _you _are the one that interrupted it first thing this morning?"

Sam's cheek bones flinch at the reminder. He opens up the first aid kit and sets it between them. "Must you rub it in? I already feel guilty."

"I know," Dean smirks, "almost guilty enough to get me a nice hot cup of coffee and some breakfast while I take my little siesta, right?"

Sam ignores him while he twists off the cap to the rubbing alcohol, retrieving a cotton ball from the kit he holds it over the top of the bottle and tips it upside down. Once the alcohol has fully absorbed into the ball, he leans over and sets the bottle on the night stand.

"Right?"

"Just hold still. This may sting," Sam leans in and rubs the cotton gently on the small cut above Dean's left eye.

"Ouch, Sam!" Dean flinches back, his muscles tightening.

"Stop being such a baby," Sam replies, dabbing the few other various cuts on his face. The nail marks on his neck cause Dean to close his eyes in pain and hiss.

"Sorry," Sam whispers in sympathy. Dean just nods his head for him to continue. "S'fine. Thanks. I could have done this on my own." Dean opens his eyes and looks at him.

"Yeah, but you wouldn't of."

When he's done he stands and walks over to the small waste basket, disregarding the now pink cotton ball.

"Good news, you'll live," Sam winks at him.

"Sounds like bad news for you," Dean says tiredly.

"Yeah yeah. Bad news is I can't do shit for the lovely bruising and swelling. You look like shit. How about your ribs? There is nothing I can do for them aside from wrapping them," Sam points to said ribs. "Those look terrible. Anything broken?"

Sam knows first hand what cracked ribs feel like.

He clearly remembers a friend from Stanford, a female friend that was raising two children on her own, tell him once that she fell down some steps and cracked two ribs and that it hurt worse than labor. He didn't know what labor felt like exactly, but he did know that cracked ribs hurt like a bitch when he fractured three getting tossed into a wall by a pissed off poltergeist. He was in pure agony for what felt like eternity.

"I think one or two could be cracked," Dean admits looking into the kit, "nothing major, minimal pain, but I would appreciate it if you'd locate the wrapping."

_Bullshit. More like I'll wrap them._ "Nothing major? Huh," Sam sighs. Dean does have a higher pain tolerance than him. " I guess you get your coffee and breakfast catered in because we are out of wraps. Mind if I take a shower before I head down to the pharmacy and the diner? I mean... I did wake up feeling like I passed out inside a furnace but you had nothing to do with that, right?"

Dean groans.

"Right, Dean?"

Dean lazily swipes at the first aid kit, moving it to the other side of his bed, then lifts his legs onto it, stretching all the way out to rest his head on his fresh dry pillow. "Whatever." He yawns, "How long before check out?"

Sam frowns at Dean's pretend ignorance. He holds his arm out and looks at his watch. "We have another three hours. We also have no current gig so there is no rush."

Dean's eyes close. "Couldn't find anything?"

"Not yet. I'll do some more research when I get back. We can always stay here a few days and let your ribs heal," Sam suggests. When Dean doesn't respond, he shrugs his shoulders and heads for the cold shower that has been beaconing him.

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After his nice cold refreshing shower, Sam picks up all the discarded clothing on the bathroom floor, including Dean's. If they are going to stay even one more night, he'll head to the motel's so called laundry mat and do the dirty deed of laundry detail.

The deal was they rotated laundry detail every other week. He's been on the road with Dean for a little over a year, and he has only seen Dean do laundry twice. _Go figure._ Both times Sam was badly hurt on a hunt gone wrong and Dean stepped up to his end of the deal. _The deal Dean made._

Deep in thought he doesn't notice the blood stains on Dean's boxers.

Sam smiles to himself as he wads up all the laundry. They always make a big deal about it that ends up in stupid bets and hysterical banter. In the end Sam always loses and stomps out with a dirty laundry sack over his shoulder, pretending to be pissed.

The truth is, he doesn't mind. As much as Dean's done for him he feels inclined to do it. He steps from the bathroom, towel around his waist and heads over to their dirty laundry sack. He glances at Dean as he stuffs the soiled and dirty clothing into the duffle bag.

Dean is sleeping on his back, one arm slung protectively over his rib cage the other over his eyes.

"You sleeping?" Sam says it in a soft tone so that he won't wake him if he is. When he receives no response, he takes it as a yes and zips the bag up. He heads over to his clean clothing bag and begins to shuffle through it.

After fully dressing he takes the blanket off his own bed and covers Dean who is sleeping in just a towel. His flesh is covered in goose pimples, a sure sign he's still cold. Sam thinks the walk home in the rain might have given him a cold. That would explain his near passing out in the shower. He knows it's not his fault but he still feels guilt tugging at his heart strings. He'll go get those wraps for his ribs and some breakfast and then see how Dean's feeling. Oh and his coffee. He won't forget that.

He stares at Dean a few minutes before leaving. Something feels... off. How did three men get a jump on Dean? _His brother, Dean?_ If he passed out in the shower, why did he cry out? His older brother seems to shield himself off and leave bits and pieces out of his stories. He hates that. Sooner but usually later, those missing bits filter out. He hopes soon.

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The second Dean hears the gentle click of the door closing, he opens his eyes and lifts his arm. "Finally," he growls, "never a fucking moments privacy around here! FUCK!"

TBC...


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks again for all the reviews. This one is dedicated to Jana, my little banner maker and Sista in all angst... just mostly Dean lately LOL. I hope you like it as much as I know I'll like my new Gordon/Dean/Sam angst banner. Hee! Don't know about everyone else, but that episode was well worth the wait. Supernatural is bbbaaacckkkkk!

Fights Bite

Chapter 6:

Dean rips the blanket off his body and sits up, eyes flickering from one corner of the room to the other. He can feel the sweat beading up on his forehead and wipes it off with the back of his hand. Just a few minutes ago he was freezing and now all the sudden, he feels like he's slowly being cooked from the inside out.

He stands and paces over to the thermostat, eyeing up the temperature gauge. The room is still at 99 degrees even though Sam shut the heater off. He clicks the air condition on, mumbling to himself. "Damn it Sam, why couldn't you turn the air on before you left? Must I ask you to do something in order for you to do it?" He frowns, "Of course I must. I swear for a college boy you act like you don't have a brain of your own!" A part of him knows that isn't true, but right now, he's just so frustrated and irritable, and he doesn't even know why. He just is.

He drops the towel around his waist where he's standing then heads over to his duffle bag of clothing in the far corner of the room. He picks it up and tosses it on his bed, immediately fumbling through the inside for fresh clothing. He removes light gray boxers, clean white socks, his favorite pair of ratty faded jeans, and a black t-shirt. He whips each one on the bed like each article of clothing personally offended him. When he's done he tosses the bag clear across the room with a loud growl. The bag hits the wall and falls over on its side, a large remainder of the clothing spilling out onto the dirty motel carpeting.

He fists the clean boxers and begins to put them on with jerky movements. He looks down at his bruised and battered body as he slides them up. "Assholes," he hisses as his eyes trail down to the bite mark on his lower body. "What the fuck is this?" He stops pulling up the boxers midway, eyeing up the suspicious mark like he's never seen it before. "What the fuck is this?" He repeats himself. The wound is beginning to scab over yet the flesh around it is swollen, red and hot to the touch when he pokes at it with his finger.

A pain flares behind his eyes causing the entire room to spin. "Sonuvabitch," he curses as he drops to his knees with his head cuffed in his palm.

The multiple voices ring out again, filling his mind with even sharper pains as each word is spoken.

_Now now... such a potty mouth you have there, Dean Winchester. _

_Maybe we should teach you another lesson, DEAN. _

_Yeah... maybe we should... or maybe we should teach your brother Sammy a lesson? _

_Would you like that? We'd like that... hahahahahahahahaha..._

"STOP IT! JUST STOP IT!" He screams at the top of his lungs, his eyes closed tight. He's pushing his index finger and thumb into his closed eyelids hard enough to bruise.

_Hahahahahaha... why would we do a thing like that? _

_Why don't you make us stop it? _

_You know where to find us... you think you have what it takes to beat us? You didn't last time..._

_I'd like to taste your blood again before you completely turn... so bitter... _

Dean feels like his neck is brutally squeezed, long razor sharp fingernails clawing into flesh. He blindly swipes at the invisible hands in a feeble attempt at oxygen. His own fingernails dig in creating deep scratches across his neckline. He doubles over on the floor, gasping and choking for breath.

_That mark on your body means you belong to us... Dean Winchester. You will forget about it till we say otherwise. If your brother finds out about it I promise you he will die even slower than we have planned. Pull your shorts up, Dean. You are a disgrace. _

_Such a disgrace. You are pitiful. _

_I think he wants us to harm his brother. _

_I think he just wants to watch. _

_I think he wants to taste his blood himself. I can feel the greed within him. _

_Come find us, Winchester. Come find us. If you dare, Hahahahahahaha..._

_He's not brave enough... coward... so bitter... Hahahahahahaha..._

The voices leave and take with them the pressure on his neck and the intense pounding in his head. He gasps for air and crawls his way up the bed, his entire body shivering. He weakly reaches down and pulls his boxers the remainder of the way up. He lays on his belly spent. "What's wrong with me?" He chokes on a sob in his throat. "Sam? Sammy? Help me..." his head lifts up an inch from the mattress then falls back down as he blacks out.

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Sam drove the Impala down the main stretch as if he owned the road. He felt like he did. A two mile stretch of a town and not once did he pass another vehicle. After picking up some bandages and extra supplies for their first aid kit, he was on his way to the diner at the other side of town. He passed the town gas station and almost pulled in for the coffee and maybe some donuts. His stomach was growling, begging him for something more filling, like bacon and eggs. He decided on real food. However, as he passed the bar they were at the night before, he made a quick u-turn into the small vacant parking lot.

He shut the powerful engine off and stared up at the sign. 'Todd's Pub. Friendliest Bar In Town'. Sam let out a snort. "More like only bar in town and not very Dean friendly."

He knew his brother better than anyone and had to admit, on many occasions, Dean was a little obnoxious. _Okay, more like extremely obnoxious_. Especially in the company of pretty women. However, Dean had told him he was beat up over a game of pool. Why would he lie about that? The fact that Dean _openly admitted_ three guys got the best of him was strange in itself. There was no _I almost had them,_ or _you should see their sorry mugs. _He admitted he never got a punch in. Sam couldn't shake the weird feeling something more was going on.

He steps from the Impala and heads over to the double swinging doors, noting the large sign that says 'Closed'. He leans into the stainless glass, looking for any sign of movement. He can see a figure behind the bar and sighs before banging on the glass.

Moments later, he hears the sound of a lock turning and he steps back as one of the doors swing open. It's the same bartender from last night.

"We aren't open for another half hour," he smiles at Sam, recognizing him. "Hey you were here last night I remember you," he frowns. "Something wrong? Don't tell me your buddy you showed up with didn't make it home in one piece?"

Sam gives him a half hearted smile back.

"He did make it home, didn't he..?"

"Sam. My name is Sam and yes, he made it back to our motel room."

"Oh," the man's eyes widen. "Well that's good to know."

Sam rolls his eyes. "He's my brother."

The bartender chuckles. "Oh, sorry."

"It's okay," Sam assures him. He's used to it. "Listen, I know you aren't open I just had a few questions. My brother... he was beat up last night and I was curious if you knew why? Or seen anything?"

The man nods his head. "I figured when those jerks came back in they did something. Three against one odds who the hell could win that? Glad they aren't locals." He leans into the door, "How bad? You thinking about a lawsuit or something? I don't own the place I just work here full time for Todd. He's a good buddy of mine. I did what I am instructed to do."

"And what exactly is that?"

"Stopped them from fighting inside the bar. What happens outside is not our problem. Most of our clientele are locals. We do get a few drunken brawls and I do call the law enforcement in to stop it. Usually it's over something petty, they are escorted home and they are back drinking and hugging the next day like nothing happened. Your brother assured me everything was fine and all four of them willing left so I didn't feel it was necessary to phone help."

Sam's upset but nods his head. He's glad he didn't because he'd be looking at Dean through very thick bars for a long time if the local law enforcement did any finger printing. "I understand. I'm not looking to sue you or Todd or anyone else for that matter. My brother is a grown man. I'm just trying to figure out why? Was it over a pool game?"

The bartender smiles at him, relief washing over his face. "I get it. Just upset your younger brother was in a fight? I have two younger brothers. They are hard to keep track of."

Sam doesn't bother correcting him that he's checking out a story from his older brother. It would sound kind of weird. "Yeah. If you could give me any information, anything, I'd really appreciate it."

The man scratches his chin. "Really I can't give you much. We were pretty crowded last night. I can tell you they approached him while he was sitting at the bar drinking. They claimed he hustled them out of some money. I could tell shit was going to get ugly and threatened to call the police. Your brother assured me everything was fine and all four went out the back exit." He pauses trying to recap the events. "I'd say maybe twenty minutes? Or so later, the three men came back inside and ordered a few rounds of drinks. They left before last call."

Sam nods his head, taking in the information. "What did they do when they came back inside? Did you hear them say anything?"

"No... not really. They lingered around one of the pool tables which are well out of my ear shot with the loud music and all." He snaps his fingers together. "The one that did the ordering of drinks, creepy SOB, did come up to me with a bloody lip. I told him he was bleeding and it was weird..." he stops lost in thought.

Sam begins to fidget. "What was weird?" _Bloody lip._ Dean told him he never got one punch in.

The man stares off into the distance.

"What was weird?" Sam speaks louder.

The bartender snaps out of it. "Oh it's just that he licked the blood of his lips and laughed. It was really creepy. He uh... he said more drinks for my pals." The man shudders. "That guy gave me the willies."

"Anything else?" Sam can feel his stomach doing flip flops and it's not just from hunger pains. Something is going on.

"Uh... no. I asked him if he wanted anything to drink and he said he wasn't thirsty. He already had a good taste in his mouth."

Sam's head angles and his eyebrows raise. "A good taste in his mouth? What the hell does_ that _mean?"

The man shakes his head. "Listen, I have no idea."

"What did he look like?" Sam's fist begin to clinch and unclinch.

"A creep," he replies. " I'm sorry, the lighting in the bar... not so good. I couldn't tell you. All I can say is he had the most wicked grin on his face. I've worked here for four years and I've met some interesting people. I hope like hell he doesn't show up here again. The fact your younger brother played pool with the guy and willingly left with him speaks volumes. He needs more guidance." He looks at his watch. "I have to finish getting ready for open. Sorry." He begins to close the door.

Sam sticks his foot in the door right before it closes, the man looking up at him with surprise. "Please? PLEASE! Can you remember anything else?"

"No... I can't. I'm sorry." He motions down for Sam to remove his foot.

"Have you ever seen these guys in here before last night?" Sam twists his ankle to the right, forcing the door open another inch.

TBC...


	7. Chapter 7

Fights Bite

Chapter 7

"No, I haven't. That was the first time now please remove your foot," the man warns.

"Okay okay, sorry," Sam complies, turning his ankle he slides his makeshift doorstop clear, "thanks man."

He eyes Sam up again. "No problem. Just tell your younger brother to stay out of Todd's bar. He may or may not have started it, but we don't need any trouble. I see him in here again I will call the cops. Same goes for those creeps."

"Okay. I completely understand and I'll pass the word on to my brother. Thanks again," Sam replies. He watches the bartender close the door then hears the audible click of the lock.

"Bloody lips? Bad taste in his mouth?" Sam whispers out loud. The growing urge to get back to the motel and check on Dean intensifies. Dean's just going to have to wait longer for his breakfast and coffee and so will he. He could call him but if he went back to sleep like he said he was, he didn't want to wake him up, _again_. Besides, it's only three blocks down. He turns and jogs back to the Impala.

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With the air condition left on continuous the motel room temperature was dropping by the minute. Dean lay on his back in a restless sleep. The blanket Sam had given him long forgotten, hanging half way off the bed. He was freezing yet he couldn't muster enough energy to get up, much less crawl under the blanket. _He didn't want to. _

He groans, fisting the blanket underneath him.. He'll deal with the cold if he can just drift back to sleep...

He hears the motel door slam, hard.

Half out of it he mumbles, "Sammy... must you be... so...loud." He smacks his lips together, "So cold... air," he adds, expecting Sam to take the hint and adjust the thermostat once again.

"You could say I brought Sammy with me, Dean Winchester," one of the voices echos out.

Not again. Memories of what just happened minutes ago flood back to Dean. Voices in his head, the throbbing, the choking, yet this time no pain accompanies the voices. For some strange reason, he can't even remember what the voices were telling him. He recognizes that voice! His eyes shoot open and his head lifts.

Chad stands by the door, Sam's severed head swinging in his grasp. Dean's jaw drops in shock and he blinks a few times, hoping like hell this is a nightmare. He watches Chad fling Sam's head carelessly back and forth by the hair, blood spraying across the carpet in sickening crimson lines.

"What the..." he instantly scrambles back off the bed, falling to his knees only to recover quick and stand. He looks up to Chad's sinister smile, then back down to his brother's lifeless head.

"You wish this was a nightmare," Chad reads his mind, his smile broadening.

Dean frowns and blinks again.

"Told you I was in your head, DEAN," he spits with venom. "I also told you not to tell little Sammy here," he holds the dripping head up to his face, "about the little present I left you," he looks down and motions with his eyes to Dean's lower body.

Dean's head turns as if he's physically smacked. His head lolls back. He remembers now. He stammers, "I... I never told him..."

"Never told him, but you called out for him before passing out, didn't you? You were thinking about telling him, weren't you?"

Dean's jaw drops, again. He closes his mouth then opens it. "How did you..."

"I told you," Chad laughs, raising his free hand he flicks Sam's temple hard, a clot of black blood plopping out onto the floor. "I'm right here," he then points to Dean's head.

All fatigue and wounds forgotten, Dean screams in rage, "You are DEAD!" He lifts a leg, ready to leap onto the bed over it and pounce when an invisible force slams him back against the wall. "Umphhhh," his body hits hard but he continues to struggle and scream. "DEAD! DEAD!"

"Hahahahahahahahahaha," Chad mocks him. "If looks could kill, I probably would be dead." He tosses Sam's head forward. It rolls across Dean's bed, leaving a sickening trail of blood, then drops on the floor next to his feet with a clunk.

Dean's entire body is stuck to the wall like a venus flytrap. However, this time he is allowed to move his head around. He looks down at his brother's head and begins to gag. His stomach heaves uncontrollably. He swallows a few times then cries out, "WHY? WHY DID YOU DO THIS?" His eyes travel back to Chad's, searching for answers.

Chad stares at him as if he's studying for an exam. His smile fades down to a neutral expression. "Why did I do what?"

Dean whimpers, his lips quivering. "Kill... him."

Chad's smile returns. "Oh. Is that all you want to know? Here I thought you were asking me why I bit you, claimed you as my own, only to cause you great suffering and eventually kill you," he advances. "I would have told you that but here you had to throw a curve ball." He stops a few inches from Dean's face. "I didn't kill him."

Dean squints at him. He doesn't understand. "Who... who did?"

"You did," he responds instantly.

Dean shakes his head vigorously, "NO! NO I DIDN'T! I WOULD NEVER!"

"But you will," Chad exclaims. "This is no nightmare, DEAN, I'm just showing you what I am capable of. There is no way to outsmart me, there is no way to avoid me and just for the record, there is no way to kill me."

Dean's skull hits the wall once again. This time his head is stuck and looking straight into Chad's eyes. The vilest, creepiest, darkest blue eyes he's ever stared into. "You _think _you can kill me. Go for it."

"I KNOW I CAN!"

The second he is released his arms are swinging.

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Sam opens the door rather hard and sighs with relief. It's cold in the room and his _older_ brother is passed out in only his boxers with no covering, but he can see the rise and fall of his chest. He's alive. He's _safe_. He eases the door closed behind him.

"Sammy... must you be... so...loud? So cold... air," Dean mumbles to him from his position on the bed.

"Sorry Dean," Sam says softly, taking a few steps he reaches out to turn the air off. "I didn't mean to wake you. I don't have any grub yet, or coffee, I... I just wanted to wrap your ribs first. Besides, the breakfast special was over and we both know how crappy the leftovers are. I was thinking I'd get us brunch." He swings the plastic white bag holding good remedies to show he brought something.

Dean looks at him like he's holding explosives. He begins to ramble, "What the..." sliding off the bed he fumbles uneasy then stands frowning.

"Okay, brunch means an early lunch or late breakfast, something I learned in college that proves it was pointless, Dean, how are you feeling?" He begins to approach his delirious brother with short strides. He sets the bag gently on his bed.

"I... I never told you... how much I hate you. You are worthless. You are DEAD! DEAD!!"

Sam raises his arms yet continues to approach. "Dean, relax, it's me, it's Sammy."

"WHY? WHY DID YOU DO THIS?"

"I didn't mean to, Dean, I'll fix it I promise. First you have to tell me what I need to fix," he stops inches from him. He looks him in the eyes, hoping Dean will snap out of it... whatever _it _is.

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Thanks again for the reviews.

I'm pretty dishearten the last episode 'divided the fans' because it became 'Buffy' or 'Angel' or 'Charmed'. I never watched any of those shows (Angel, yes) anon. Cruelty. Please tell me 'everyone you personally know' means a few?

I also had this story in mind for a while, but eek. I guess it's been done before.


	8. Chapter 8

Thanks again for the awesome reviews.

Fights Bite

Chapter 8

"Why did you kill... him?"

Sam stops in tracks. "Kill who, Dean?"

"I KNOW I CAN!" Dean screams at him.

"Can what?" His brother is not making any sense. "Dean are you sick? Hurt? Did someone hurt you?"

Dean's eyes are darting frantically from side to side. He's backed up against the wall, clinging to it with every muscle in his body.

"Please, Dean," Sam's voice quivers with emotion, "you are scaring me, man." He wonders if Dean is seeing things but quickly passes the notion off. Evil always shows itself to both of them. It's never once pin pointed one of them out to see it and not the other.

Sam steals a glance down Dean's near naked body, mentally observing it for any odd looking marks. Other than some nasty bruises and swelling, there are no physical marks indicating he was bitten by anything. Of course he can't see his back side.

Maybe what the bartender said about 'bloody lips' meant nothing. It was possible Dean got an elbow or fist in when he was attacked and he just didn't remember it. The comment 'he already had a good taste in his mouth' was the most unsettling and warranted an explanation. "Dean I want to help you but please, please tell me what's going on?"

Dean stares directly in his eyes with a mixture of hatred, confusion, anger, fear; Dean has never looked at him like that and it terrifies him.

"You are so fucking dead. You hear me? DEAD!" Dean seethes, his tone so cold and threatening, Sam takes a step back and looks over his shoulder to verify he's speaking to him. Even unprepared for an attack, he'd rather _something_ or_ someone _be behind him with an axe. Something to prove Dean wasn't speaking to _him_ like this.

He turns back to his brother disappointed.

He braces himself for an attack from Dean. One that never comes. Dean just continues to scream from his position against the wall. He's flushed in the cheeks and perspiring heavy.

"DEAD!"

He knows he needs to calm Dean down. As loud as he's yelling, if the cops haven't been called yet by the guests in the adjoining rooms, they will be.

Sam moves in slowly, arms raised. He doesn't want to frighten his frantic brother anymore. Though he's not sure who is more scared at the moment. He thinks about grabbing his wrists and leans in, his own heartbeat beating in his temples, then decides to put his hands on his shoulders at the last second. "Dean you are safe. Calm down," he coos.

Sam regrets not latching onto his wrists when Dean begins swinging.

Dean is strong and fast. Sam feels his powerful right fist slam into his left cheek and before he can recover, Dean is counteracting with a swift left to the right jaw. His head snaps and he stumbles a few steps back, his legs connecting with the mattress frame he falls onto the bed.

Before he can recover from the first round of blows, Dean is on top of him, pinning his arms to his sides he straddles him with his strong thighs. He's reaching frantically under his pillow for his beloved knife. Dean growls and whips the pillow off the bed, running his hand across the mattress. "You sonuvabitch," he swears, raising his fist he punches Sam hard in the mouth.

"Gaawwdd," Sam's head rocks to the side, blood spraying from his split lip. His head rolls back to face Dean.

"What did you do with my knife you sack of shit!" Dean screams in rage.

Sam knows what he did with it. He put it by the laptop on the table when he was changing Dean's bedspread.

"I'm going to cut you into a million pieces for what you did," Dean grabs him around the throat with both hands, "so slowly, you will be begging me for life after you are already DEAD! Where's my knife!"

"Why... are you ... doing this?" Sam wheezes out, "You are hurting... me." It's a good thing he didn't answer him and it's an even better thing he moved the weapon. Sam has no doubts Dean would use it on him.

"S.T.O.P." Sam manages to gasp through the choke hold. His brother's hands are extremely warm around his neck.

"How could you hurt him? HUH! You want me KILL ME! HOW COULD YOU?!" Dean's eyes are glazed over.

Sam swings his legs up and wraps them around Dean's neck, pushing with momentum to roll them both off the bed. They do a somersault and land in a heap on the floor, both scrambling to gather their bearings.

Sam's on his feet in a fighting stance, knuckles raised, blood dripping from his mouth.

Dean moves hastily back against the end table between the beds. He hits it so hard with his back the lamp sways and knocks off.

He's going to find out. Act natural, Dean Winchester. Why are you hurting your brother?

Hahahahahahaha... you like it don't you?

I knew he'd like it.

He's losing it already. Told you he wasn't strong.

He finds out you have to kill him.

Hahahahahahahaha...

He wants to kill him.

Not yet, Dean... no fun in that...

Talk to your brother, Dean. Stop killing him...

Such a disgrace...

"I don't want to hurt you, Dean," Sam exclaims looking down at him. Dean has his head in his hands.

"Sammy?"

Both are panting hard from their exertion.

Dean lowers his hands from his face. "Sammy? Are you okay?" His voice is hitched and full of sadness.

Sam lowers his arms. "Yeah, Dean, are you?"

"I thought they killed you," he whimpers.

"Who Dean? Who are they?"

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"So that's what it's like to be at the receiving end of your fists. I think that's the first time you have ever hit me and didn't hold back," Sam says after removing the ice pack from his face. He sticks two of his fingers in his mouth and wiggles his front upper tooth. "Man, I think you knocked one loose!"

"I'm so sorry, Sam," Dean's head is down observing the carpet for blood stains. Everything seemed so real. "I told you, I have no idea what came over me. I think I was having a nightmare."

"You think?" Sam begins to pace around Dean, looking him up and down thoroughly. "Dean, you looked clearly awake to me. You were out of it, yes, but you were awake. It was no nightmare. I'm the one with nightmares, remember?"

Dean is leaning on the edge of his bed, arms folded across his chest. He sits up and runs his hands over his thighs before tightly folding his fingers on both hands together. "What do you want me to say?" He turns his head to see Sam behind him, "What are you doing, Sammy?"

"Checking for something."

"Checking for what?"

"I don't know. A bite mark perhaps. Something to explain your odd behavior."

Dean stands, turning to face his brother. "A bite mark? What the hell are you talking about? Nothing bit me. I was in a bar fight Sammy... _a bar fight_! End of story." He looks at the fresh bruising on Sam's face and calms down a tad. "I'm sorry I hurt you, Sammy, I feel guilty as fuck for it, I don't know why I did it." He runs his hand across his sweating brow.

"You have a fever," Sam points out calmly.

"Yeah... well, I let my lame ass brother take my car back to our motel room since he's incapable of having some fun and was forced to walk home in the freezing rain because he tends to act like a fucking grandpa!" He shakes his head, "I could have used you back there, Sam," he admits. "But I don't know why you think something bit me, where do you come up with this shit?"

"That's not fair, Dean," Sam says sadly, lowering his head.

"It's not," Dean agrees, lowering his tone. "I guess I'm trying to make you feel guilty because I feel guilty... no that's not it. Sam, I'm just... I'm so fucking irritable right now."

Sam lifts his head. "Dean, I went to see that bartender while you were passed out, I was just curious..."

"Checking on ME? You think I'm lying?" Dean's eyebrows raise.

Sam ignores him. "He said those guys that beat you up... they came back into the bar and one had a bloody lip and he said," he cringes holding the ice pack up to his face to hide it.

Dean's curiosity sparks. "Said what, Sam?"

"He already had a good taste in his mouth," he mumbles behind the ice pack.

"I can't hear you," Dean replies, looking at his brother.

Sam removes the ice pack from his face and shudders. "The bartender said one of the guys came back up to the bar ordering drinks for his buddies. He said he didn't want anymore booze. He said he already had a good taste in his mouth."

Dean looks at him shocked. "What the hell does that mean?"

"I was hoping you could tell me that. With your behavior just now... I just thought maybe he bit you. Dumb huh?"

"No," Dean admits, shaking his head, "here," he throws his arms up in the air allowing Sam to inspect for bite marks. "I understand, hell I'd be doing the same thing. I assure you nothing bit me but please, look me over for peace of mind."

"Really?" Sam looks relieved.

Dean gives him a look that says hurry up before I change my mind.

Sam is cautious but takes him up on the offer. He sets his ice pack down on the bed and approaches his brother. He begins to examine Dean's skin. "You do have a bad fever. Please stop screwing with the temperature in the room... it may be my fault you got sick but you aren't helping matters." Sam hopes like hell he doesn't find anything. He's shaking and he's not sure if it's because of what he may find or because Dean's prior behavior and attacking him shook him up.

"I'm not that sick, Sam, your fingers are freezing from the ice," Dean replies, flinching when ice cold fingers brush the side of his neck. Sam ignores him as he continues to inspect but keeps his hands to himself.

Sam thoroughly examines every part of Dean and comes up empty. He hesitates, "Dean, lower your..."

"Oh forget it, Sam," Dean backs away.

"I just want to make sure..." Sam sighs.

"I assure you nothing could sink their fangs down there before I ripped them out with my bare hands... unless they are a hot blonde and nice about it," he grins.

Sam stands fully and shrugs his shoulders. "Fine, Dean. No bite marks."

"Told ya," Dean quips. "Besides, that asshole could have meant anything with that taste comment. He probably just got done sucking his friend's dick off. I'm seriously considering going back there and kicking the shit out of them."

"Yeah, you told me," he slowly paces over to the bed and plops down, picking up his ice pack. "Still, you were acting odd Dean and it wasn't normal odd. It's like you were talking to someone besides me, not seeing me. Dean you asked me how I could hurt him. Hurt who?" Sam leaves out the part where Dean told him he hated him. He knew that wasn't true and couldn't bare repeat it.

Dean clears his throat. "Sam. I am telling you. I must have had some freaky nightmare or something. I don't remember any of that. Maybe I was sleep walking," he suggests.

"Since when?" Sam looks at him skeptically.

Dean scrunches up his eyes and sighs out loud. "Since never. I don't know Sam. All I know is I have a killer headache and could use some caffeine." He walks stiffly over to the side of his bed and bends down, picking up the articles of clothing he grabbed from his bag earlier. He tosses them on the bed and begins to put his shirt on.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting dressed. I'm still cold. Is that okay with you?"

"No, I didn't go get wrapping for your ribs for nothing."

Dean nods his head. "Oh yeah, almost forgot. My ribs don't really hurt anymore. Not like my head does."

"I'd like to wrap them anyway," Sam stands and retrieves the pharmacy bag. "They look bad," when Dean gives him a dirty look he adds, "you are the one that asked me to get them for you."

"Yeah alright," Dean agrees.

Sam begins his ministrations, wrapping the bandage tightly around his brother's mid section.

"I'm really sorry I freaked out on you," Dean says as Sam works.

"S'kay, you didn't mean it," Sam says cooly.

"How's your face?" Dean notices the fat lip and dark bruises already forming. He knows he did it. He didn't know he was attacking _Sammy_ when he did it, but he remembers it. It was no nightmare. He knows just what he has to do.

"It's fine Dean. You hit like a girl," Sam teases.

Dean lets out a light chuckle. "Yeah, I see that." His voice softens. "I am truly sorry. I didn't know what I was doing. I'd never hit you... I mean..." he chews on his bottom lip. He hit his brother not so long ago. He didn't hit him full force but he hit him hard enough to let Sam know he meant business.

"I know, Dean," Sam says, finishing up his wrap job he tucks the end of the bandage under tight. "You really scared me though and I'm really worried about you. I hope you don't mind me keeping my eyes on you till I make sure everything is fine. You know in our line of work, anything is possible." He pats Dean on the bare shoulder. "All done, how's that feel?"

Dean stretches his arms out and rolls his hips back and forth. "Good. Thanks." He proceeds to get dressed. "Still wanna go get that coffee for me?" He asks pulling his t-shirt over his head.

"Dean," Sam says sternly, "didn't I just say..."

"I heard you, and yes, that's fine. I'm not going back to sleep so I won't wig out on you when you get back. Besides, it's just down the street."

"Why don't we both just go together?" Sam suggests, looking at him hopeful.

"To be perfectly honest I just don't feel like going anywhere. You know what... fine, forget the coffee," Dean mumbles as he begins to pull his jeans up.

"Please Dean? Aren't you hungry?" Sam really doesn't want to leave Dean's side. Truth is he's been hungry since he woke up. His stomach rumbles loudly as if on cue.

Dean grins. "I guess you are. I'm not going anywhere and no, I'm not hungry. I'll order you a pizza," he begins to fasten his belt, "all though I highly doubt the pizza man will bring me my coffee."

"There's a coffee machine down the hall," Sam says.

"Man did you try that stuff? That's not coffee," Dean holds his nose up in disgust. "Don't think about the candy bars for a meal, either. I didn't realize chocolate could go stale. I almost broke a tooth."

"Fine, Dean," Sam gives in, "you sure you will be okay?"

"I'll be fine, Sam, go get some grub. Just make sure the coffee is fresh."

Sam looks at him hesitant. "What are you going to do?"

Dean walks over to the table by the door and eases down, opening the laptop. "I'm going to find us our next gig."

Sam stands over him. "Dean. You ARE going to stay here, right? That bartender said you are no longer welcome and he WILL call the cops the second you step foot in there."

"Dean looks up at him, rolling his eyes. "Then you have nothing to worry about. We both know there is nothing else in this town that would strike my interest." He looks back down and eyes up his knife next to the laptop as it loads up explorer. _There you are. _

TBC...


	9. Chapter 9

I tried to post this over the weekend but my computer is on crack. Thanks for the reviews.

Fights Bite

Chapter 9

"I'll be right back Dean," Sam says, looking at his brother doubtfully.

"Okay," Dean says sarcastically.

Sam stands and stares at him a moment more. Dean begins to type on his laptop, ignoring his presence.

Sam shakes his head and exits the motel room, easing the door shut behind him. He glances at his watch. He better go check them in one more night. He certainly doesn't want management knocking on the door while he's gone. Something is off with Dean and he plans on getting to the bottom of it.

Deep in thought he jogs across the length of the building and enters the main office. When the bell hanging on the door jingles an older gentlemen looks up at him skeptically. "Can I help you?"

Sam smiles at him as he steps to the counter. "Yeah, hi. I'd like to stay one more night, room 12." Sam removes his wallet from his back pocket and pulls out a credit card.

"Room 12? We just got a complaint about room 12 from one of the other guests," he eyes up the fresh bruises on Sam's face. "You fighting in the room?"

Sam winces. "Yeah, sorry about that. My brother and I had a little dispute. I assure you, it's over now. Everything is settled." Sam holds the credit card out. _Great. Just great. We are so kicked out of here now. _

The man hesitatingly accepts the Visa. "You know we have a policy. All damages incurred in the room will be automatically billed to the credit card we have on file," he looks down at the rectangular plastic, "Mr. Morrison."

"Please, it's Jim," Sam rolls his eyes, mentally noting him and Dean are going to have a talk soon about the names he puts on the credit card applications. It's embarrassing. "I completely understand, Sir. For the record we didn't break anything."

"We'll see about that," the man clearly doesn't believe him. He scans the credit card and hands it back. "No more fighting in the room. I receive one more complaint I'm calling the sheriff. Him and I go way back and he'll be here before you can flush your drugs, or whatever it is you adolescents take these days."

Sam looks at him confused. "No Sir, we don't do..."

"Sign by the X," the man cuts him off.

Sam sighs and picks the pen up, scribbling the phony autograph.

"No parties either, Jim," the man warns. "Our housekeeper said you had another vehicle parked outside your room with a handful of your buddies. One car per room. We will be keeping an eye out."

Sam drops the pen on the counter. "I'm sorry, Sir. I don't understand. We haven't had any visitors since we've been here. We don't even know anybody in this town."

"These young men weren't from around here. Small town," the man replies, ripping Sam's copy off the receipt pad he hands it to him.

Sam stares at him, mouth slightly open. His eyebrows raise, "What time was this? That we supposedly had guests?"

"About an hour or so ago," the man answers. "You want the housekeeper to change your bedding? You will have to vacate the room for about thirty minutes."

"No, no that's okay," Sam hurriedly stuffs the receipt and credit card back into his wallet. "Thank you," he says before slipping out the main office.

His long legs carry him fast back to their room. He swings the door open so hard, it hits the wall behind it.

Dean's up and out of his chair, knife drawn. "Sam! What the?"

Sam eyes him up suspiciously.

"Sam?" Dean lowers the knife. "Any reason for busting in here like that? Besides trying to give me another heart attack?"

"Did you have any visitors when I went out this morning?" Sam blurts it out with a look of impatience.

Dean smirks at him. "Um. Nooooooooooooo. Who's acting odd now?"

"Dean I just went and paid for another night. The man behind the counter said a car full of men were parked outside our room around the time I was out."

"Andddddddd?" Dean eases himself back into the chair.

"And I don't know. I just thought that was weird," Sam says a bit antsy, waiting for some explanation.

"Hmmmm. Motel parking lot, car full of men. That is weird," Dean rolls his eyes.

Sam throws his hands up in the air. "You're right. I'm acting like a paranoid freak," Sam admits.

"I'll say," Dean goes back to typing on his laptop. He looks back up a minute later to see Sam still standing there, looking around the room. He clears his throat. "Ahem, coffee? You were hungry? Anybody home?"

Sam nods his head and opens his mouth to speak, then turns to leave. He locks the lock before shutting the door once again.

"He thinks _I'm acting _odd?" Dean says out loud to himself. He continues to browse the site he's on until he hears the roar of the Impala's engine. "About time," he whispers, closing the lab top. "For a college boy sometimes you ain't so bright."

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His body aches as he walks with stride down the street. He has his collar pulled up over his neck, blocking some of the nippy wind. His eyes and ears sting from the cold, yet his body is continually growing warmer. The inner aches are a sure sign he's coming down with something. He doesn't even know why he's heading back to the bar. He just feels like he has to. "Finally," he mumbles when he sees the bar in view. Is it just him or was the three block walk more like three hundred?

He enters the near silent bar. The only sound is the low twang from the jukebox. He paces over to the bar, removes his jacket, and places it on the back of the barstool. He eases into the chair, wincing as sore muscles are strained. He looks around the establishment. Not a body in sight.

The bartender appears minutes later from the back room, a case of whiskey in hand. He looks at Dean, shaking his head he approaches him. "Didn't your brother relay the message?"

"Afternoon," Dean smiles at him, ignoring the question. "That whiskey looks good. I'll take a shot... or two," he points to said case.

The bartender sets it on the floor. "I told your brother I didn't want you back in here," he says sternly.

"Oh," Dean looks at him surprised, "you did? Funny thing, I haven't spoken with my brother today. Now how about that drink?"

"We don't allow trouble makers in here," the bartender says exasperated.

"Yeah, well," Dean glances around the room, "looks to me I'm your only customer. What kind of trouble can I cause?" He smiles at the man. "Besides, we both know I didn't start that fight last night."

The man shrugs his shoulders. "Fine. One drink. I don't want you back in here later when there is a crowd."

"Fair enough," Dean agrees satisfied.

The man retrieves a glass and pours Dean a shot from one of the open bottles behind the bar. "I would have called the cops last night, I'm sorry you got beat up, three to one just ain't right," he begins to make light conversation.

Dean nods at him and raises his glass. "None needed. It wasn't your fault those guys were jerks," he downs the shot and slams the glass on the counter.

The bartender hesitates but pours him another shot. He does feel a little guilty for what happened. "This one is on the house."

"Thank you," Dean lifts the glass and begins to drink.

"Your older brother was really concerned."

Dean practically chokes on the liquid as it slides down his throat. He coughs a few times, setting the glass back down. "Pardon me?"

"Your older brother, Sam? He stopped by asking questions about you before I opened up. Nice guy, seems to really care about your welfare."

Dean smirks at him, his lips tight. So now Sam is playing it off he's the _older_ brother. _He's so dead. _

"Sam," Dean lets out a fake laugh. "Don't let the kid's over active imagination fool you. He's my younger brother."

"Really?" The bartender seems baffled. "Why would your younger brother act like your older brother?"

"Dunno," Dean scoots his glass closer to the man, hinting he'd like another drink. "It's been one strange occurrence after another since we arrived here."

The man complies, pouring Dean another shot of whiskey.

"Weird things happen in this town a lot?" Dean holds the glass up as thanks before downing it. Like Sam, he had no luck finding anything on the internet. He even searched this town's website and the only exciting thing going on was the famous pork roast coming up in _two months_. Maybe something is going on in this town that is up their alley. _If there are a bunch of pissed off pigs bent on killing off the entire town. _

He feels a twitch in his stomach and rubs at it with his free hand. He checks it off as drinking on an empty stomach.

"Not usually. Those creeps that beat you up were pretty weird but with the city so close by, it's expected. We just don't get it that much. What fun can they possibly have around here with us boring folks?" He laughs. "Where you from?"

Dean continues to rub at his stomach. "Ha, don't settle yourself short. I'm sure city people would love to participate in your upcoming pork roast." He grins then adds, "And would you please stop saying they beat me up?" He almost has the glass set down when his hand spasms. The glass drops to the counter and tips over.

"Sorry," the bartender looks hurt, picking the glass up he reaches below the bar for a wet rag to clean up the tiny sticky mess.

"Kansas," Dean rasps, his entire body now shaking involuntarily. "I'm from Kansas," he's up out of his seat swaying, looking around frantically. "I..."

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Sam kicks on the door twice and when Dean doesn't answer, he curses as he fumbles for his room key, juggling the drink carrier and both take out bags in one hand. He retrieves the key from his coat pocket and unlocks the door. He turns the knob and this time eases it open gently with his foot to insure he doesn't startle Dean. He makes his way inside.

"I got it," he yells towards the bathroom, dropping everything but the drink carrier on the table. He notices the laptop shut. "I take it you either found something supernatural or ended up in a dead end just like me?" He calls over his shoulder, easing the drink carrier carrying two cups of steaming _fresh_ coffee down.

He doesn't hear a shower running. In fact, he doesn't hear anything. "Dean?" He turns towards the open bathroom. "Son of a bitch!"

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He storms through the front doors of the bar, pushing both open for added emphasis. He looks around and spots Dean's jacket hanging over a bar stool. "Whey do you always LIE to ME," he growls under his breath. He was more worried than angered about Dean but now that his hunch was right, he's pissed!

He notes the bar is empty so vocalizes his fury. "Dean! Where the hell are ya man? Your _fresh_ coffee is back at the room where you _told me _you'd be!"

He stops in his tracks and looks around. He was only trying to fool himself. He's scared. "Dean?" He swallows the dry lump in his throat. He never did get the bartender's name. "Hello?" He looks around. He walks to the center of the place, observing. Maybe Dean is in the restroom? He turns to head towards the purple neon sign then stops when he hears a thud from behind.

He turns and heads back around the bar, "Hello? I mean no harm I'm coming around back." His eyes shift around. "I'm just looking for my brother, Dean. Anyone here?"

There is one swinging door to the 'back' and he reaches his arm out, opening it cautiously. His other hand is at the back of his waistband, ready to pull his gun if needed.

A few strides in he's on his back, looking up at the ceiling. Something made him slip. "Mrrrrrrrr," he groans arching his sore back up he removes his arm he fell on. He rolls his head to the side, "Oh my God!"

The bartender stares back at him with dead eyes. His throat slit, blood pooling around both of them.

TBC...


	10. Chapter 10

Thanks for the reviews and sorry for the delay. I hesitate posting this chapter now after Born Under a Bad Sign. I've had full intentions of having Dean battling the dark in this fic and I'm afraid it's going to sound like I'm copying that episode with an evil Sammy (which was incredible hot). Ten chapters in I don't want to scrap this story yet. Let me know if it's too much alike. I'm undecided at this point.

Fights Bite

Chapter 10

"Kansas," Dean rasps, his entire body now shaking involuntarily. "I'm from Kansas," he's up out of his seat swaying, looking around frantically. "I..."

"Are you okay?" The bartender looks at him questionably. The man is swaying like he's drunk. An instant sheet of perspiration is covering his pale features.

"Yeah... I... bathroom," he barely manages to choke out. His stomach is twisting and turning in every direction making him lightheaded and even more nauseous than before.

"Straight back, follow the neon purple sign," the bartender instructs.

Dean nods his head slowly and begins staggering towards the sign. His vision is fuzzy and he can't make out the words. He leans into the first door he sees, not even sure if it's the men's or ladies restroom. At this point he doesn't even care. He's going to throw up. He walks in unsteadily and drops to his knees at the first commode. He wraps his hands around the ledge and leans in, his stomach instantly heaving.

After several minutes of expelling the liquid contents in his stomach followed by some painful dry heaving, he leans up and flushes, then eases back to sit on his behind. He stretches his legs out from beneath him and leans his head back against the cool tiled wall. He swallows instinctively in an attempt to soothe his agitated throat. With his hand rubbing subconsciously at his stomach, eyes closed tight with pain, his mind begins to drift.

Jerking back to awareness, Dean opens his eyes and looks around confused. Where is he? The motel bathroom floor? He squints a few times to focus, zooming in on the graffiti covered wall his head is resting on. He reads one particular spot that is in big black bold marker. _4 A Good Fuck, Jewels 555-0356._ There is an arrow pointing at her name in a red, thinner marker, ending with the words, _Bitch gave me STD. _

"Guess I won't be calling Jewels," he moans to himself, running his hand across his battered face. He fells like major shit. How long as he been sleeping here? He runs his hand down to his side, expecting to reach into his jacket for his cell phone to get the time, and probably several missed messages from Sammy, to discover he's not wearing it.

"Bar stool," he remembers where he left it. He remembers where he's at. He rubs at his stomach again before easing up the wall. He thinks the liquor is what upset his stomach. Perhaps it wasn't a very good idea to come here. Why did he come back here? He paces over to the sink and starts the cold tap, washing his hands with soap and water he then rinses his mouth out and spits. He splashes water in his face and looks up in the mirror.

"You look like death, Dean," he says reaching for the paper towel rack. He decides he's going to pay for his drinks and maybe call Sam for a ride. Hopefully he's not too upset with him for leaving the motel room. His head is throbbing and he's not in the mood to hear Sam's whining.

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A few strides in he's on his back, looking up at the ceiling. Something made him slip. "Mrrrrrrrr," he groans arching his sore back up he removes his arm he fell on. He rolls his head to the side, "Oh my God!"

The bartender stares back at him with dead eyes. His throat slit; blood pooling around both of them.

"What the?" Sam scrambles back and attempts to stand, his shoes slipping in the slick blood he falls ungracefully back to his ass. He takes in the sight before him. He doesn't need to feel for a pulse. The man is clearly dead. He reaches out regardless, touching the man's hand. It's warm to the touch verifying he hasn't been dead for very long.

Sam grabs his weapon from his waistband and stands on shaky legs. His eyes instantly begin to scan the back room for any sign of movement. He does a sweep of the room to find it empty. There is a backdoor, most likely leading to a dumpster. He reaches out and tests the handle. It's locked from the inside. He makes the assumption whoever or whatever did this came in through the front door. That leads to the biggest question. Where is his brother?

He pulls out his cell phone and hits speed dial. He keeps his gun held high, his other hand up to his ear. It's ringing.

He faintly hears Dean's signature ring tone. He follows the music that is growing louder and louder with each unanswered ring. He exits cautiously from the backroom. He strains his ears and glances over to the barstool just as voice mail picks up. Dean's phone must be in his jacket.

"Damn it," he curses, eyeing up the much larger room. He folds his flip phone and shoves it back into his pocket. A flicker of movement catches the corner of his eye and he turns his entire body, ready to aim and fire.

Dean exits the bathroom with his head down. He's rolling the ache in his shoulders.

"DON'T MOVE!"

Dean jumps and looks up to see Sam holding a gun at him from across the room. A look in his eyes saying he's going to shoot.

"Whoa whoa whoa," Dean half ass raises his arms, a slight grin forming over his handsome face. "Don't shoot, please. I was getting ready to come back..."

"DAMN IT DEAN!" Sam yells, half relieved yet even more confused at the occurring situation.

Dean's eyes cast to the blood on Sam's clothing. He lowers his arms, all sarcasm leaving his tone. "Sammy? What happened?"

Sam keeps the gun pointed at Dean. "You tell me? Did you kill that bartender?" He watches his brother's reaction.

Dean continues to stare at the blood on Sam, a genuine confused expression forming. He glances over to the bar for said bartender then back to Sam. "Whad'ya mean killed? He's not dead... I was just havin' a few drinks..."

Sam shakes his head. "Dean. He's in the back cut ear to ear. He's dead. This is his blood on me."

"Huh?" Dean's eyes widen. "What? No. That can't be. I'm telling you Sam, he served me some drinks. We were talkin'," he takes a few steps towards the bar. "I um... I had to use the can. He was standing right there," he points. Sam continues to hold the gun on him and he snaps. "Damn it Sam would you stop pointing that thing at me?"

Sam takes a little bit more time than Dean expected lowering the weapon. The hesitation causes him to snap again. "What?! You think_ I_ did this?"

Sam's mouth drops open to speak but no words come out. The truth is, he has no idea if Dean did this or not. From his brother's reaction he didn't do it but with his odd behavior lately he's still not a hundred percent sure.

After Dean snapped out of it back at the motel he carried the same expression. It's like he had no control over what he did. He can't just eliminate the possibility Dean didn't do this because he says he didn't, as much as he'd like to.

Sam's shoulders slump and he reaches around his back, tucking his weapon away safely. "Of course I don't think you did this," he lies.

"I can tell," Dean quips giving Sam an unpleasant glare before heading behind the bar and into the back. He swings the door open and gasps. "Son of a..." he holds his tongue from swearing as he kneels down in front of his lifeless body. "How did this happen, man?" He speaks softly. "How long was I out? Why didn't I hear anything?"

Sam walks up behind him silently. _How long was I out?_ The words bring bile into the back of his throat. Dean _did _have another incident. He bites his tongue and observes.

"I'm so sorry. I could have helped you," Dean whispers, sadness in his voice. He reaches into the man's back pocket and removes his wallet. He flips it open and looks at his driver's licence. "I never even got your name...Joshua." He looks up at the man while he folds the wallet back up and stuffs it back into his pocket. "Thanks for the words and the drink, Joshua."

"Dean," Sam finally speaks. "We have to get out of here."

Dean nods his head sadly, "Yeah."

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The three block ride back to the motel room is spent in silence.

As Sam pulls into the parking spot in front of their motel room he shuts the engine off and removes the keys, pocketing them. "Stay put," he breaks the quietness. "I'm getting our stuff and we're leaving town."

Dean looks at Sam hurt. "I said I didn't do this, Sammy." He's sure he didn't.

"That doesn't change the fact you are a wanted man and both are prints are all over that bar." They were going to wipe the place clean, as much as they could anyway. However, two men entered the bar for an early drink and they had to hurriedly leave. By now the body must have been discovered and they didn't have much time. It wasn't like the Impala was a conspicuous ride.

Dean complies, running his fingers across his face, ignoring the hurt it causes his bruising. "I'll help; it'll be quicker."

"Just stay put," Sam says impatiently. As he steps from the Impala, easing the door shut, he can't help but feel guilty. He knows Dean knows he doesn't believe him. Dean can read everyone of his emotions Sometimes he wonders if their Dad's journal has a secret section only Dean can decode. A section all about Sammy Winchester. Maybe there is.

As Sam slings the last bag over his shoulder, the dirty laundry bag, he makes a grab for Dean's laptop. He does a quick inventory of the room. It's not like they have that many possessions.

It hits him. He looks down at the laptop in his hands then over to the table. It's where he last saw it. He knows he didn't pick it up yet in his heist to retrieve their things. Dean must have it. No. It can't be. He paces over to the bed and holds in a deep breath. He picks Dean's pillow up off the bed. Nothing.

Dean has his knife.

Images of Joshua in the backroom, slit throat, blood... so much blood. "No!"

TBC...


	11. Chapter 11

Thanks for the reviews.

Fights Bite

Chapter 11

Sam tosses the dirty laundry bag into the back seat then eases the laptop behind the driver's seat. He makes a mental note he's going to have to get rid of the bloody clothing he changed out of soon. He stuffed it on top of the rest of the dirty clothing, not wanting to leave it behind in the motel room.

He glances over at his brother who is now leaning against the passenger side window, eyes closed. He gets in slamming the door behind him.

Eyes still closed Dean mumbles, "We need to check out?"

"I already did," Sam responds. He hesitates on asking just yet but he has to know now. "Dean. I couldn't find your favorite knife. Perhaps I left it in the room somewhere?" He waits for a reaction.

Dean rolls his head to face Sam and answers casually, "I have it on me."

"You what?" Sam's fear is confirmed. "You took that knife to the bar with you?"

Dean's feeling extremely drained at this point. "You know I always..." he stops mid sentence and observes the look on Sam's face. "Just what are you getting at?"

Sam can't hold it in any longer. "Dean, that bartender..."

"Joshua. He had a name, Sam," Dean begins to get agitated. He sits up straighter in his seat, eye contact never leaving Sam's.

"Joshua," Sam corrects his mistake, "his throat was slit, Dean."

"Yeah, I know I was there too Sam!" He rubs at his temples. The pounding in his skull is starting to increase. He lightens his tone. "Stop beating around the bush here. You think I did this? Just say it!"

Sam takes a deep breath. "Dean I just think something strange is going on. You attacked me once and have no recollection of it. Is it that hard to believe it happened a second time with Joshua?"

Dean grits his teeth together. He leans forward digging into his coat pocket. He pulls out a shot glass and tosses it in Sam's lap.

He looks down at it. "What's this?"

"Come on, you think I'm that stupid? I swiped it off the bar when we left. Just because the place has my prints all over it doesn't mean I need to leave the glass I was drinking out of there. Besides, I'm sure there are a million other prints along with mine." He then pulls out his knife, still in its holster. He slams it on the dashboard, wincing as his ribs are pulled from the movement. There is a flare of pain up his back. That's new.

Sam's eyes travel slowly to the knife.

"Go on, examine it for blood. While you are at it, examine me again. Slitting a man's throat like that, I'm bound to have some of it on me," Dean huffs and leans back, turning his head away from Sam again.

"Dean... I," Sam begins.

"Hurry up we need to get out of here," he whispers, closing his eyes he shifts his body towards the window, showing he's done with this conversation.

Sam eyes up Dean then the knife for a moment. His shoulders slump as he pulls the Impala out onto the main street.

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Twenty minutes later, the small town in their rearview mirror, Sam decides to speak. He looks down at the paper sack of food between them and the drink carrier holding two cups of coffee. "I ah... grabbed you a cheeseburger and some fries back at the diner. Fries are probably cold and soggy but they wrapped the burger in tinfoil."

Dean doesn't even acknowledge him.

"Coffee is probably cold too," he half laughs, "I can always stop and get you some more."

Dean finally speaks. His words quiet and running together, Sam can't make out what he said.

"Huh Dean?" Sam glances over at him hopeful. He's had a few minutes to clear his head and is hoping they can put this behind them. For now. Something still isn't right about all this but he needs to give Dean the benefit of the doubt.

Dean's head turns to face him. He now notices how pale and sickly Dean looks. Behind the bruises he sees tired eyes.

"Thanks, Sammy, but I told you I wasn't hungry," he repeats his words.

That's a start.

"Do you want the coffee? Or I can stop?"

"Na. My stomach is upset," he pulls his jacket in tighter, his eyes drifting closed again.

"You look terrible," Sam chews on his bottom lip.

"Thanks," Dean whispers.

"I'm just going to keep driving for a while if that's okay with you. The further we get away from that town the better. Any particular destination?" He knows Dean probably didn't have any luck finding their next gig. Hell, with the turn of events, that's the last thing on his mind.

"Hmmmm," Dean moans, his head slumping further back against the seat.

Sam reaches out and turns the Impala's heater up to full throttle. The heater doesn't function that well but at least it's something. He looks back up at the knife one more time then looks to the road. He drives in silence, destination unknown.

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Dean exits the bathroom with his head down. He's rolling the ache in his shoulders.

"Look what we've got here. If it ain't the life of the party, Dean Winchester himself!"

Dean looks up to see Richard and Bill at a pool table. Richard calls out his shot before dunking the eight ball into the center pocket.

Dean smirks. "I had a feeling I'd see you guys here." He glances around, "Where's your buddy? I owe him a good ass kickin' and I believe he owes me the money I earned. Of course I'd be more than happy to get that from you."

Bill laughs. "Oh he's around." He begins to rack the balls for another game. "I owe him some money. I figured you wouldn't be stupid enough to show your face here again. Seeing as we kicked your ass a good one last time."

Richard joins in the laughter.

"Haaa," Dean lets out a laugh dripping with sarcasm. "I can't say I'm sorry I disappoint."

"You ready for round two? I knew you would be. Or is this round three? Or four?"

Dean looks to the bar to see Chad, one hand in Joshua's hair, the other with a blade to his throat.

"Whoa whoa whoa," Dean half ass raises his arms. "If you guys are looking to settle a score with me fine, he's got nothin' to do with it. Why don't you put the knife down?"

Chad grins at him sadistically. "Still think you are in charge, _Dean_?"

"You have the creepiest fucking smile I've ever seen, you know that?" He raises his arms a little higher. "Whatever you want with me, take it, but please, let him go?"

"Please, Chad, let him go," Bill mocks Dean in a high pitched voice.

Chad begins laughing. "Let him go? Are you begging me? Why don't you get on your pretty little knees and beg me."

Dean's nostrils flare. "I don't know what kind of sick..."

"Get on your knees and beg me or I will slit his throat now," Chad seethes, running the blade across the bartender's neck enough to draw a line of blood.

"Please... I have a family. Take all the money from the register. I don't want to die," Joshua pleads, his eyes wide with fear.

"Well now, that's up to _Dean_ here. What's it gonna be?" His eyes turn icy cold.

"Chad?" He lowers his arms, pointing to him, "Chad, man, I don't know what you want from me but you don't have to do this!"

"Dean," Chad digs the blade into Joshua's neck deeper, causing the man to cry out. "I already have what I want from you. It's just a matter of time before you figure that out." He begins to slice deeper into tender flesh.

Dean looks into Joshua's eyes. "Okay okay!" He begins to lower himself to the ground, one knee at a time. "Please man, I'm begging you, don't do this."

Laughter rings out in the bar from all three men.

"You sons of bitches. I swear I'm going to kill you all," Dean growls.

Chad laughs harder. "That's practically impossible," he motions to his buddies.

Bill and Richard round the pool table and lift Dean up from under both his arms, dragging him towards the bar. Dean puts up a struggle but the men are extremely strong. He finds himself bent over the bar, his arms stretched out over the wood surface, his wrists pinned tightly. His head is slammed down on the bar. Slightly dazed he tries to shake it off when a pool stick is shoved roughly into his lower back. He can't suppress the cry of pain. Bill grabs him by the hair and pulls his head back roughly, forcing him to look at Chad. A few grunts escape his throat.

"Ya know, _Dean_, sooner or later you are going to have to admit to yourself what you are. The sooner the better," Chad says taking a few steps back, dragging Joshua with him.

"Ughhh, and what is that?" He rasps, his words harsh, breaths short and fast.

"Look in the mirror," Chad replies, his eyes turning to ice again as he slices the knife deep into Joshua's throat.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Dean cries out, watching Joshua's eyes roll into sockets, blood pulsing out from his jugular.

His body released, he slides off the bar to his knees. "You fucking bastards!" He stands, fueled with anger and adrenaline, he grabs Bill around the throat and turns, slamming his head into the bar.

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He stopped once for gas. There was a Subway inside and he hesitated leaving Dean alone in the car. He was sick. Sweating and mumbling in his sleep, Dean continued to toss and turn in his upright position. At once point his head slouched down on Sam's shoulder. Sam didn't have the heart to move him. In fact, he found it rather comforting. If it were a time for brotherly pranks he would have snapped a shot of it from his cell camera phone. Now was not the time.

"Dean, I'll be right back," he soothed, easing his head off of him he stepped from the Impala.

He was a nervous wreck waiting in line for them to complete his order. Four foot long sandwiches, two with turkey and lettuce for him and two with everything on them for Dean. Even when Dean got sick, which was rarely, he always had a hearty appetite. Sam was going to make sure they had enough food for at least a couple days. He was not going to let Dean out of his sight.

The knife was clean. He checked already.

Dean had no blood on him. He checked that too.

He even poured holy water on him. Nothing.

Something was still so terribly wrong. He could feel it in his gut. It wasn't just Dean being sick either.

"Sir?"

The lady snapped him out of it. He was fidgeting and glancing over to the Impala. "Oh sorry," he unloaded his arms onto the counter. Chips, a gallon of orange juice, several hostess snack cakes, two cans of chicken noodle soup, aspirin, cough syrup, M&M's with peanuts, and a copy of World Weekly News. Just in case Dean was up for reading.

The older woman eyed him up.

"Road trip," he half smiled at her.

When she handed him back his credit card she smiled and said, "Thank you Mr. Morrison".

He couldn't help but roll his eyes.

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"Dean man, time to wake up," Sam shook his brother lightly.

It was a little after midnight and he was exhausted. Dean had been asleep the entire time.

"Dean, I got us a room. Come on," he nudged him harder. He ran his hand across Dean's forehead, feeling the heat radiating off of it he sighed. "I'll carry you if I have to but I'd rather not." He grabbed his brother's collar and tugged him towards him. Just on the edge of the seat he maneuvered Dean's legs out of the Impala onto the ground. Dean mumbled something intangible in his sleep. "That's it, wake up and help me out Bro," he coaxed hoisting his brother to a standing position.

Dean swayed on his feet and began mumbling again. "Dean? You awake?" He had him by the shoulders now and shook him.

Dean's eyes pop open, starring at Sammy with fear. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" He cries out, "You fucking bastards!" He grabs Sam by the throat, catching him off guard. He turns and side steps, slamming Sam's head hard onto the roof of the Impala.

TBC...


	12. Chapter 12

Thanks for the continued reviews. I'm working on my tense/grammar issues, but the more I go back and try to correct things the worse it gets. So please excuse all errors and I hope you still enjoy. Mistakes are all mine. Now if I can just get my hands on those Winchester boys. Sigh. This is a short chapter. The next one will be extra long and I'm working on it now.

Fights Bite

Chapter 11:

One second he is helping his sick brother out of his car. The next the steal surfaced roof of the Impala is greeting his forehead. Sam lets out a painful grunt as his head is forced back by his shaggy hair. He blinks against the black spots forming in his eyes.

Dean twists his fist in Sam's hair. "You are gonna die!" He growls in his confused state, slamming Sam's head yet again into the steal top of his ride. In his mind, the head is connecting with a wood topped bar, and it's not his brother he's inflicting pain on.

This time the side of his face connects on the edge of the roof. He cries out in agony as the flesh on his cheek rips open. He can vaguely hear hair being pulled from roots as Dean pulls his head back again.

"Deeeeaaaaaannnn sttooooppp," he begs. He pushes his body backwards off the Impala with his lanky arms in an attempt to pry Dean off of him. In his disoriented condition, he puts more steps and more weight into it than necessary. Legs and feet tangle together, arms flail as Dean meets the asphalt, Sam landing directly on top of him.

Air is forced out of his lungs in one painful burst as Sam lands on his busted ribs. His head slams back on rough blacktop sending him into darkness.

Gasping for air himself, Sam quickly rolls off of him, ready to put up a fight. One glance down at his brother he knows he's out cold. The street light above casts just enough light for him to see a small pool of blood beginning to grow around Dean's skull.

Elbow on concrete, he ignores the friction as he rubs the lump on his forehead. The left side of his face feels completely numb. "What is _wrong_ with you _Dean?_" He whispers closing his eyes.

He waits a few minutes for the dizziness to subside before standing. He glances around and sighs with relief they are the only two in the parking lot. He's pretty sure he doesn't have the strength left to put this town in the rearview mirror.

He bends down over Dean's body and feels for a pulse. His fingers are greeted with a steady beat. If he wasn't so scared and confused with his brother's recent actions, he'd drag his body to their motel room by his hair. He'd let him see how it feels. Not that Dean's near buzz cut is long enough.

Instead he eases him to a sitting position by firmly grabbing his shoulder, the other hand held protectively behind his head to insure he doesn't strain his neck. His hand is instantly coated with warm sticky fluid. "You're going to be okay, Dean, I'm going to figure this out," he says to his unconscious brother. As he hoists him into a fireman's carry, he adds, "Don't you dare wake up and freak out on me now."

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After unloading their bags and a few necessary items from the Impala's trunk, Sam gets to work. He looks over to Dean who is still out of it. He walks over to him, ropes in hand. He takes a long shuttering breath, assuring himself he needs to do this, for Dean's safety as well as his.

He already removed Dean's jacket before easing him down onto the mattress, face up. The wound on Dean's skull is deep and could use a couple stitches. However, it's an inch behind his right ear and he'll be able to manage by turning his head to the side.

He lifts Dean's right arm and holds it back against the bedpost. 'I'm sorry, Dean, this is for your own good," he tries to justify his actions. He notes fresh bruising around Dean's right wrist. His eyes shift to Dean's left wrist to find a set of matching, darkening fingerprints. He knows these weren't there earlier. "What have you gotten yourself into?" He pauses deep in thought for a brief moment then continues his task. He places several gauzes between Dean's wrists and the ropes just before tightening the bondage. He doesn't want to inflict more injury on Dean and knowing his brother, even when he's in his right mind, he's going to put up a struggle.

He repeats this process with his brother's ankles at the foot of the bed, tying both to the metal frame. He removes his shoes but leaves his socks on, eliminating the need for gauze to protect him from rope burns.

Just as he ties the last knot and stands Dean begins to stir.

"Hiissssssss," he sucks in a heavy shaky breath as his eyes slowly open. "Sa..." he clears his dry throat. It feels like someone crammed an entire cotton field down it. "Sammmmy?"

Sam looks down at his brother, attempting to put on his best poker face. "I'm right here, Dean."

Dean's eyes flicker open and closed a few times, adjusting to the light. "Sam... why does it feel," he takes another painful deep breath, "like someone ran me over... with my own car." Another painful gasp. "Sonuvabitch... my ribs hurt..."

"I fell on top of them. I probably did more damage to them... I'll ah... check them out. I also need to stitch your head wound, you are bleeding all over your pillow." Sam says in a flat tone, trying to keep emotion at bay. Sam watches the confusion in Dean's feverish eyes. He's giving him the same look he gave him back at the bar. It's not going to work this time.

"Fell on top... Sammy... what happened to you?" Dean takes in the bleeding gash on his brother's cheek and the enormous red goose egg on his forehead.

"Let me guess, you don't remember?" Sam's voice breaks with emotion, tears automatically threatening to surface.

Dean winces as he tries to sit up. "Remember what Sammy?" He tugs on his right arm and when he can't free it, he glances over his shoulder. He stares at his own wrist tied to the bedpost for several long seconds before tugging again, as if the action will make the ropes magically fall off. He turns to look back at Sam, betrayal in his eyes. "What the fuck, Sammy?" Dean's voice squeaks with shock. He continues to stare into Sam's eyes as he tugs with his left arm, ignoring the piercing pain that travels from his jolted ribs all the way up both arms, back down into his brain.

"You're sick," Sam responds, a single tear running down his cheek. It stings when it enters his fresh cut. It doesn't sting nearly as bad as the look Dean is giving him right now.

Dean's eyes darken, his bottom lip quivering as he begins to test the ankle restraints one at a time with jerky movements.

"It's no use, Dean. You taught me how to tie knots, remember that?" Sam sniffles, running his palm across both eyes in a feeble attempt to hide tears. He knows now is not the time to show weakness but he can't help it.

Dean tugs a few more times at the ropes, a guttural growl escaping his throat as his head falls back onto the pillow. "Untie me Sam. Untie me now or so help me God..."

"What, Dean? What are you going to do? Attack me again? Try to kill me? You know this makes the second time? Three strikes I'm out, is that it?" Sam says, heading over to the other bed for the first aid kit.

Dean's quite for a minute. "Second time?" He rolls his head to the side. "I did that to you?"

Sam remains silent as he rounds the bed, easing to his knees he sets the kit on the floor and opens it, not answering Dean's question. He doesn't have to.

"Sammy I..."

"I know, you can't remember it. It's not your fault," Sam reaches up and turns Dean's head placing a thick stack of gauze over the bleeding wound on his head.

Dean flinches and rolls his head back to face him. "I swear to you Sam. I don't remember doing that to you," he swallows hard, "Sam, what's wrong with me?"

"I don't know. I wish I did," he tries to push Dean's head back to the side gently but Dean stiffens his neck.

TBC...


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